


screams that their minds dispose

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inaccurate Depictions of Mementos, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Neither of them were big on sleeping for drastically different reasons, but they both sought comfort in work and in ineffable actions that their friends would see as worrisome and borderline insane.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	screams that their minds dispose

**Author's Note:**

> title extracted from purity ring's crawlersout
> 
> extra warning for mentioning and talking about necrophilia but that is not truly apart of this fic

It was closer to three in the morning when he received the text message from Akechi, announcing his presence in Leblanc. Akira had not gone to sleep because nothing but gore and handcuffs awaited him in his dreams — prophetic from before November and a gruesome reminder after.

Morgana did not even budge when he snuck off of the bed, accustomed to his frequent _meetings_ with the person once described as a cold-hearted murderer and traitor in the eyes of the Phantom Thieves. Akira never voiced to them that _cold-hearted_ was a poor way of describing Akechi because they had already twisted and set a personality fitted with proclivities that felt far from and distant from who Akira really was — a version of himself that only the detective seemed to accurately dissect to be make-believe.

He did not bother changing out of pyjamas before going downstairs, finding Akechi waiting patiently at the bar with his legs crossed — a scarf too big for him hiding most of his facial features and snow lingering in his hair. By the sight of him, Akira could tell that he too received little to no sleep. Neither of them were big on sleeping for drastically different reasons, but they both sought comfort in work and in ineffable actions that their friends would see as worrisome and borderline insane.

No words were spoken as Akira shifted across to behind the bar to prepare them both coffee — lattes, to be exact, because despite his exterior and constant protestations Akechi found the taste of black coffee utter shit. Akechi never once looked at him, rubbing a destroyed paperclip he used to unlock the door between his gloved fingers and edging them to break through and touch his skin.

Passed a cup, Akechi licked his dry lips before speaking, “I read a peculiar old case with Niijima last night. A perverted murderer,” he stopped to take a sip — the satisfied sigh escaping from his mouth even more reason for Akira to want to improve, “He finds lost and distraught foreigners, mainly women but he goes for a man if he becomes desperate enough, and cuts up their bodies limb by limb. Stitching them up, he has intercourse with the corpses’ holes until their bodies become too rotted to deprave sexual pleasure from.”

“Whatever happened to the killer?” asked Akira.

”He was never caught,” Akechi answered, “The police had a very promising lead suspect, but there was never enough evidence to send him to trial. He’s in his nineties now. Probably in a home surrounded by young and attractive nurses, waiting for the right moment to have his last pleasure.”

Akira snorted, “Can a man that old even have sex?”

“It’s possible,” Akechi shrugged, “There are hundreds of sexual harassment claims that come from those homes from women every year. Usually, the men are too old and decrepit to successfully rape anyone, but it is certainly not impossible.”

Akira hummed, now sitting next to him and could feel the faint warmth radiating from his body, and slipped his phone out of his pyjamas’ pocket with a smile forming over his face, “You know, I could not help but find your texts a little... _eager_ tonight. Did you really want to see me that bad?”

Akechi’s body tensed up, his eyebrows scrunching in that defensive way that was more endearing than anything else, “It has been a stressful week, and I could use some sort of relaxant. I would expect you to understand that.”

“Of course I understand,” Akira smiled, the red glowing eye of the metaverse staring at him through his phone, “This late into the night...shadows will be far in between but more aggressive. Does that sound appealing to you?”

“Yes. Very much so, in fact.” replied Akechi.

Akira clicked on the application, “Then let’s go. Shall we?”

* * *

Mementos, while a cognition of the Tokyo underground, became darker and bloodier by night. There was always a sound of shrieking coming from down the narrow and twisting pathways — a shadow luring in any unfortunate oblivious person to their death like a siren. If one dared to stay still for long enough, they would catch a glimpse of the walls moving, almost as if they were trying to _breathe_ , and spitting out blood and black ooze. A scent of rotting corpses waiting to be found.

His first day down there, Ann and Ryuji had expressed their concern as to how Akira could remain so calm and focused in a scenery like that. At the time, he brushed the question to the side with his own, asking Morgana questions of how Mementos worked and skillfully made them forget that they were ever worried in the first place.

But in truth, Akira was just as terrified as they were, nauseated especially. His life before Tokyo was covered in blood and red-stained sinks, but nothing of the gore that remained as ghosts on his body could compare to what was in front of him. That fear turned into indifference and then morphed into something bloody and fucked up that was only for his and Akechi’s eyes to see.

In a sense, Akechi’s reveal to be the black mask was the most gratifying thing to happen to Akira; the sharp-pointed gloves trailing down his cheeks and puncturing his lips to bleed whenever he got too cocky for his taste. Little pains and small droplets of blood to be licked up by the other evolved into a complete dependence of that feeling. What started off as innocent enough turned to Akira getting stabbed by a shadow and receiving an _erection_ from the pain, licking his lips at the boy beside him and asking _won’t you fuck the pain away?_

(Akechi refused at first, telling him that he was a disgusting and vile creature for thinking of such a thing in their situation. But then the blood started to bleed through his clothes and, _fuck_ , did he get aroused at the sight of him squirming in immense pain and pleasure.)

And then they could not go a few days without private visitations to Mementos — taking all the anger they had built up over the years on each other. No desire was held back, bringing the other to barely holding on to life and reviving them just before they could die. The only evidence that remained was of faint white scars that took the appearance of being several years old in the actual world.

“How far should we go down tonight?” Akechi asked. His eyes were bored and as distant as they always seemed to be now, uninterested in what was happening around him until his hands were wrapped around a shadow’s throat and threatening to tear it off — eyes wild and insane that made Akira crave him more than he had in the past.

”We could go all the way down,” Akira suggested, “The lower depths have more violent shadows and it's easier to get lost and confused down there.”

Akechi smirked with a slight chuckle, “Perfect.”

As they travelled down there, Akira could not hold back how restless he was becoming, desperate to feel his guts being spilt open with his own knife while he got jerked off until his entire cock was stained red with his own blood. Perhaps they would feel even more adventurous and decided to fuck open their wounds until there was a giant gaping hole in their bodies. Or maybe they could convince their demented personas into joining and fucking them half to death.

But his fantasies were pushed to the side when they reached their destination. It was darker and bloodier and Akira could hardly make out the expression on Akechi’s face. There was a single red light flickering on the wall, giving them glimpses of an approaching shadow — their growls and grunts making Akira ever more excited for what was about to come.

It was a simple Moloch, stupid and an easy fight to win. But Akira was not in the mood for winning, and he let the beast charge at him — blood pouring out of him as it’s horns crushed through his abdomen and leaving two gaping wounds that would have killed him instantly in reality. He was knocked to the ground, and the shadow was running towards him again — aiming now for his head — but was cut off by Loki, severing his body in one clean swoop.

“Show off,” Akira sneered when Akechi came to his side, letting his glove clawed fingers dig into the wound with morbid curiosity, “Will you lick it until it’s healed?”

“I couldn't dream of anything worse,” Akechi replied, lifting him up by the throat, nails digging into him and he could feel his dick twitch at the pain, and pushing him up against the flesh textured wall, “I would rather watch you begging to be fucked with your own blood by me until you are on the verge of death.”

“How harsh of you, Crow,” Akira grinned, straddling Akechi’s left leg and grinding his hardening cock against his knee — pleased to see the bulge growing larger in his partner’s trousers, “At least make good use of my corpse and fuck it, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, Joker.” Akechi pulled out Akira’s knife and dug it under the neck of his shirt, hard and deep enough to let the blood trickle, and tore down until his bloodied chest was open and free for everyone to see.

Unbuttoning Akira’s pants, Akechi chuckled at the sight of his cock, pulsating and pressed against his abdomen, and let the cold blade of the knife trail up and down it tenderly, “You got this hard from just getting stabbed? What a slut you’ve become,” he dug the knife into his thigh and sliced it open, noises of moaning and screaming escaping from Akira, “I’ll give you a better reason to be so fucking hard.”

Akechi took a step back, the knife pressed against Akira’s throat ever so steady, and took out his cock from his trousers, giving it a few strokes at the lovely sight painting in front of him before manhandling Akira to where his chest was pressed up against the wall — claws digging into the cheeks of his ass to get him in the perfect position.

“God, you’re pathetic.” Akechi said when Akira started to jerk himself off, unable to hold back as the blood began piling up on the ground beneath them. He pushed two of his fingers into the wound in his thigh — digging far enough in to feel and scratch the muscle —, only receiving a gasp of pleasure from Akira before shoving the fingers into his ass with no preamble. “You best be glad I ever decided to start fucking you.”

His fingers pushed in and out of Akira’s hole, screaming echoed through the corridor as he began begging, “ _Fuck_ – Please, Crow. Just fuck me _already!”_

Akira’s strokes became quicker and more desperate, loud and aching enough that any shadow within fifty meters of them could hear his deafening pleas. His ass grinded against his fingers; begging becoming painful whimpers.

Akechi dragged his fingers in and out slower now — blood seeping out of his hole as he used his other hand to grab Akira by the hair and pull his head back, “You will have to beg better than that if you want to be fucked.”

His lips found themselves against Akira’s shoulder (his pointed mask puncturing the skin of his chest), sucking it gently before letting his teeth sink in, fastening the pace of his fingers. His blood tasted _so fucking good_ , and he could not help himself but to bite further, to tear away the flesh and suck up all the blood.

“Oh, god, _fuck_ ,” Akira breathed shakily, “I can't wait any longer. Please, Crow, _just fuck me already, you bastard!”_

Another scream escaped from Akira’s mouth as a knife plunged through his thigh before being twisted to be large enough for Akechi to press his hands on either side of his waist and thrusting his dick into the wound. A few thrusts in so it was beautiful and dripping with blood.

Akira’s hands were glued around his cock as Akechi entered him, wasting no time to spread his asshole out more with violent and fast thrusts — leaving Akira to cry out of the top of his lungs, too overcome with pleasure to do anything else but sob.

“Fuck, Gor– _Crow_ ,” Akira struggled to moan out when the thrusts became too harsh and too fast, “Please, don't stop. Fuck, I’m going to–let me cum,” tears started to creep down his cheek, “ _Please_.”

“Oh, Joker,” Akechi slowed down his pace before pulling out of him, “If you are wanting to cum, you are going to have to be quieter than that,” he grabbed Akira’s trembling shoulders and spun him to face him, “Get on your knees.”

Akira did as he was told, got on his knees in front of him, eyes focused on the cock stained in his own blood and _fuck_ did it make him even more aroused — both of them covered in blood that would otherwise be seen as horrific to anyone else but them.

“You know what to do.” Akechi said.

Situating his legs between one of Akechi’s boots so he could grind his aching dick on him, Akira licked the head of his cock, shivering at the taste of his own blood, before taking him in whole. His mouth worked up and down, tongue tracing over the veins that made him twitch inside of him.

Looking up at Akechi, Akira could see just how much he was enjoying this — teeth clenched together to turn moans into growls; fists curling into his hair to keep him steady as he chose to take matters in his own hands and fucked Akira’s throat — the choking and fastening grinding only turning him on more.

His vision was beginning to turn black before Akira realised he had cummed all over his chest and Akechi’s leg. But he did not have a lot of time to react as cum was poured down into his mouth. Akechi’s hand still on his head to keep his cock deep inside out of him as he commanded, “Swallow it.”

Struggling to get it all down his throat, Akira pulled away from him; body collapsing on to the concrete as he looked up at Akechi with a smirk, “Draw out any longer and you would’ve killed me.”

“I know,” Akechi replied, kneeling down beside him to bring him into his arms, “Perhaps next time I’ll kill you. I’m sure Loki would love to join in on fucking a decaying corpse.”

Spots of red and black formed and disoriented the world around him before the familiar January chill went down his spine. Akira being laid down in his bed, hearing Akechi’s soft whispers telling the cat to not wake him up — that he deserved to rest.

What could have been a few minutes or hours passed by without any sleep, and Morgana’s tiny but painful paws pressed up against his chest as he asked, “Hey, Akira? When did you get that scar on your shoulder?”


End file.
